Kill Katniss: A Hunger GamesKill Bill Mash-up
by Killbill12
Summary: "Looked dead, didn't I? Well I wasn't. Actually, Katniss' last arrow put me in a coma- a coma I was to lie in for four years. I've killed a lot of people to get to this point, but I have only one more. The one I'm driving to right now. And when I arrive at my destination, I am going to kill Katniss." -Peeta Mellark


**Chapter 1: ****②**

I stop the pink, frilly hovercraft at the path leading to his house. The moss-covered cobblestone is littered with children's toys. Seashells, little rakes, and nets lie in the sparse grass amid the sand. The sand box is clean yet disordered, a clear sign that a child has been at play here. The land is well-kept but not too attention-grabbing: clearly the home of a former celebrity that doesn't want to be found.

I hop out of the craft and walk slowly up the steep hill to the front steps. The surrounding dunes behind the house leave only its thatched roof unconcealed. Strike two, Odair.

I observe, but don't admire, the golden trident moldings surrounding the door frame after using the knocker in the shape of a palm tree.

"Coming!" I hear his heavy steps coming toward the door. "That was a short walk, Love. Are you two ok-?"

As soon as he opens the door, I find myself staring into a pair of distressed sea-green eyes. His charming smile disappears and he stands the frozen, staring at the man he once thought was dead.

Over top of him, I see the image of him standing over me. Dressed in his white uniform tinted with a light sea-blue color, he holds his trident next to himself and looks down on me. Never again.

I throw the first punch. He staggers back just enough to allow my entrance. I try to kick him, but his arm swipes my foot away. Now leaning completely on my prosthetic leg, I'm caught off guard when he grabs my flailing arm and throws me at a framed portrait of a boat in the sea behind him. I roll onto the cabinet below it and land on the floor in a hail of glass. Once I look up, I see his sandaled foot about to come down hard onto my face. I block it with my forearms and he brings his leg back up to hit me again. I take the advantage and kick him in his now exposed groin. He immediately doubles over and is about to kneel in pain when I kick him in the face.

My powerful leg sends him flying backwards over his couch and onto his glass coffee table. It shatters all around him and he struggles to get on his hands and knees, grunting. As I climb over the couch, he grabs one of the table's thick wood legs and hits me hard on the knee with it, right where my real leg ends and my prosthetic starts. I crouch in pain, avoiding the leg now aimed at my face. He shows impressive skill with the eight-inch peg, whirling it around me. I grab it, and the two of us are sent grappling on the ground. Finally, I wrestle it away from him and throw it away.

I now have him in a head-lock. He may be the more experience fighter, but I'm heavier and have been wrestling since I was five. I'm choking him now, and he's gasping for air. It's looking like I'll asphyxiate him right here and now until he reaches for a little fishing spear amidst his umbrellas. He hits me on the head and I cry out, falling backwards onto the tiles of the floor. He wastes no time getting up, and turns over an entire glass shelf of fragile sea shells and breakable knick-knacks. I curl up to protect myself from the shards of glass as porcelain plates and ships-in-bottles shatter around me.

He seems temporarily satisfied leaving me in the fetal position amidst the wreckage, so he runs into another room. I hurry to get up, biting my lip as I endure the pain of several cuts on my hands and forearms. When I follow him into the next room, I have to duck right away to avoid a trident whizzing over my face. Oh, no.

He's got me on his turf now; nobody's more skilled with a trident than Finnick Odair. I manage to dodge most of his attacks as he forces me backwards through the kitchen. I impulsively grab a frying pan off his counter and use that as a provisional weapon. It keeps me in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room until he cuts me on the wrist, forcing me to drop the pan. He gives me a swift kick on the chest that sends me staggering backward onto the dining table.

I slip off the table and slide under it just as he jumps on it, stabbing through the table instead of my torso. With him stuck on the table, I finally have the chance to use the machete on my belt. I easily stab up through the table and just miss his face. I pull the knife out at the last second before tipping the whole table over and sending him with it. The table now forms a barrier in the doorway between the dining room and foyer where we started our fight. We both jump up and look over the table at one another.

"Come on, Peeta!" he shouts through the blood and sweat dripping from his face.

I accept his challenge and hop over the table. We each point our weapons at one another cautiously, ready for the other to pounce at any moment. As he slowly backs into the living room, I follow him carefully. I swipe my machete and he immediately jabs his trident, then he does the same to me. Our paranoid game continues until we reach the window. Then, we hear a child's happy feet skipping up the cobblestone path.

Annie's soft, motherly laugh follows the skipping feet, though I can't make out the words she says. The child scampers up the steps and it hits me: I'm standing in its trashed home pointing a big knife at its father. I look into Finnick's eyes and see them start to calm. He slowly shakes his head pleadingly; he doesn't want his child or wife to witness this.

His silent plea pulls on my heart. I grit my teeth and glare at him, relenting just as Annie opens the door for the child. Finnick and I quickly hide our weapons behind our backs, knowing that a mad girl and an innocent child won't question the positions of our hands.

Annie is smiling down upon a little boy standing below her. A little boy. Why hadn't Plutarch told me about him? Nevertheless, I'm standing here, watching him and his mother walk in. They have no idea what's in store for them.

"Daddy, we're back!" the child's voice falter's once he sees the destruction; as does his mother's smile.

"Hey, buddy!" Finnick echoes weakly. "How was your walk?"

The boy and his mother stare into the living room covered in glass that still falls around the room. The two men standing amidst the wreckage do their best to make things seem normal.

"Finnick," says Annie unsurely. "What happened to you in the sitting room?"

"Oh," Finnick plots. "I opened that bay window and a pelican got in here. It practically tore the room apart."

Annie walks forward steadily, urging her son behind her protectively. She wraps her arms around the back of her neck, clearly affected by the mess and the sight of her bloody husband.

"A pelican did all _this_?" She asks Finnick.

Finnick stops her. "Now, Love. Don't come in here. All this broken glass could cut you, and then you'd have another panic attack." However, all three of the adults in the house know that a possible injury isn't the only thing in the room that would cause her anxiety.

Annie hears his words, and then steps back before covering her ears for a moment and doing her best not to look at the mess or the former celebrity before her. The boy, however, has no problem staring at me. And he does so with such vigor that one would think I have two heads. Finnick catches his eye.

"This is an old friend of Daddy's that I haven't seen in a long time." He gestures to me.

"Hey, buddy," I say between deep breaths. "I'm Peeta. What's your name?"

The boy doesn't answer. He simply stares at me with big sea-green eyes identical to his father's as his mother cringes at the sound of my voice.

"His name is Magnus," Finnick answers for him.

"Magnus," I say in an upbeat tone. "I take it you were meant to be named after your father's mentor? She was a great lady. Sacrificed herself for me."

Once I mention the Quell, Annie whimpers quietly and Finnick clears his throat angrily as Magnus tilts his head. Obviously the boy is unfamiliar with what his country was like before his parents worked to changed it. I hastily change the subject.

"How old are you, Magnus?"

Again, the silent treatment. Finnick doesn't let it happen this time.

"Magnus, Peeta asked you a question."

Magnus tilts his head again. "I'm four."

"Four years old?" I say with an edge in my voice. Once again, I get to thinking about what could've been. "You know, there was a time when I thought I'd be able to have a child. That child would be about four now."

I don't notice the longing and regret in my voice until I glance over at a slightly surprised Finnick. However, everyone in the room is aware of the resentment displayed in my voice, although I'm sure Magnus doesn't know about Katniss. Finnick fills the awkward silence.

"Now Magnus," he takes a knee in front of his son and places a hand on his shoulder. "My friend and I have some adult talk to talk about. So I want you to lead your mother upstairs and stay in our bedroom with her until I tell you to come back down. Okay?"

Magnus is suddenly interested in me again.

Finnick taps Magnus on the cheek with his palm and speaks sternly. "Magnus, upstairs _now_."

Magnus takes his mother's hand and guides her upstairs, giving her soothing words as she mumbles incoherent nonsense and covers her ears. When Finnick is sure they're upstairs, he invites me to the kitchen.

"You want some tea?" he offers.

"Sure," I shrug. We walk slowly to the kitchen, finally able to reveal our weapons. As we pass by the front door, I close it. Even after all these years, I still pay attention to detail.

A little information on Finnick Odair: He's currently a full-time volunteer fisherman down at the docks near his home in District 4. But back when I knew him, he was a victor of the Hunger Games, living a life of luxury and forced prostitution before being shipped off to another Hunger Games.

When they were stopped, he was rescued from the arena by District 13 personnel and once again turned into a sex symbol- this time _against_ the Capitol. However, he was also a rebel soldier who took part in each of their excursions. He and his wife Annie moved here to escape from the spotlight shortly after the overthrow. And apparently they had a kid, too. Noted.

Now, I'm standing in his kitchen, sipping tea, and wiping most of the blood off of me with a small beach towel. He's standing on the other side of the room, leaning over the kitchen sink.

"So I suppose it's a little late for an apology, huh?" He says.

"You suppose correctly," I say dryly, wrapping the towel around a wound.

"Look, bastard," he says as he advances toward me threateningly. "I need to know if you're going to start anything else around my baby boy and my woman."

"You can relax for now," I say nonchalantly, then whisper: "I'm not going to murder to you in front of your family, okay?"

Finnick relaxes and pats his chin with a rag. "That's being more rational than Katniss lead me to believe you were capable of." He heads back to the sink.

"It's mercy, compassion, and forgiveness that I lack," I answer before leaning menacingly on the bar. "Not rationality."

He's silent for a moment, and then looks up with guilt in his face. "Look," he starts. "I know I betrayed you. I wish whole-heartedly that I hadn't, but I did. You have every right to want to get even."

This guy must be joking. I laugh cruelly at him. "No, no, no, no, no, no," I chuckle. "To get even, you Capitol pet, I would have to kill you, go upstairs to where your wife is probably crying and kill her, and then go into little Magnus' room and kill him. That would be even, Finnick. That'd be about square." I draw a square in the air with my finger and smile slyly.

"Look, I was always on your side when it came to Katniss. I believed that what you had was real. I didn't agree with anything that I did back there. I had to do it for the good of Panem."

"Oh, great," I say in mock relief before returning to my business-like stance. "I don't care. You still did it."

Finnick gets angrier and walks over to a cork board on the wall. "Well be that as it may, I know I don't deserve your mercy or your forgiveness." He pulls a photo off the board. "But I beseech you for both on behalf of my son." He thrusts the picture a mere inch from my face. I can clearly see the picturesque scene of the two beautiful former victors smiling and holding their son on the beach. I am appalled by his audacity, thinking he can change my mind.

"You son of a bitch," I laugh and shake my head. "You can stop right there. Just because I have no wish to murder you before the eyes of your innocent son and fragile wife does not mean that parading them around in front of me is going to inspire sympathy. You and I have unfinished business. And not a damn thing you've done in these subsequent four years, including knocking up that crazy bitch, is going to change that."

He realizes he's defeated and sets the picture down. "So when _do_ we do this?"

"All depends" I answer with an edge in my voice. "When _do_ you want to die? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow?"

"How about tonight, Bread Boy?" He nearly interrupts me.

"Splendid. Where?"

"There's a sand pit about a mile from here where I do a children's exercise class. We meet there tonight dressed all in tan: your hair in a light brown stocking. And we have ourselves a wrestling match. We won't be bothered. Now!" He raises a finger and laughs when I flinch. "I have to get Annie's medication; now that you've got her all nervous."

I back up into the wall with my tea as he approaches the cabinet and takes out a large pill bottle and a glass for water. I take this opportunity to strike up a strained conversation.

"You know, Katniss always said you were the most charming guy she'd ever met."

Finnick laughs hard and stamps his foot, looking at me with his classic smile for the first time since our little talk when Katniss was asleep during the Quell.

"Fuck you, boy," he says. "I know she never cared about that. So you can go can just kiss my trident, Bread Boy." He walks to a small room next to the refrigerator to pour water into the glass. He returns with a remembering look on his face. "You never did believe anything I said about Katniss."

He's going to try to talk to me now. Stay strong, Mellark.

"You were the most charming, kind-hearted boy I had ever met," he continues. "It's amazing, the transformation you went through. Anyway, regardless of what you may think, she had strong feelings for you. And nobody knows more about love than I do."

Conceited bastard. Alright, I can take it from here. "Being a love expert: new weapon of choice? If you want to stick with your out-of-date trident, that's fine with me."

He laughs again and turns back around. "Very funny, Bread Boy."

I rejoice in my wit by sipping my tea calmly.

"Very funny!" he repeats at the top of his lungs. At the moment he says this I hear something burn through the wall right next to my head. I stare at the growing hole and find a laser beam. I trace it back to Finnick. There in his hand is a small plasma gun. Who knew he would keep former rebel technology in his wife's medication bottles?

Nevertheless, I should feel lucky he missed. I guess all these years of playing house with his pacifist wife have softened him. He must be pretty surprised, too; he's staring at the hole, probably wondering how he missed me when I'm six feet in front of him.

I seize the opportunity to distract him once more. I drop my cup and kick it towards him. My plan works when he dodges it. As he watches the little porcelain thing dotted with little sailboats shatter on the wall next to him, I pull out my machete and do what I have to do.

The thing doesn't even spin as it plunges into his chest and out of his back. His head hits the cabinet and his body slides slowly to the ground, his sweaty bronze hair squeaking against the glass cabinet. He hits the ground with a thump and looks up at me with pleading sea-green eyes that made so many Capitol sponsors melt. The pills spill in an array in the puddle of water now on the floor.

I don't even notice that I'm still in throwing position until I decide to take a step forward. I cautiously let my arm down and inch toward him. The surprise and horror in his eyes are unlike anything I've ever seen. After all, the only person I ever killed in the Games was Brutus, and it was too dark in the arena to his face.

Finnick breathes one final, strained breath before letting his head fall, the twinkle in his eyes finally going out.

I bend over to pull my machete slowly from his torso, keeping my eyes on his dead face the entire time. I stand up quickly, looking down on him with absolutely no regret. Then I hear the noise. Child's feet again.

I know what's waiting behind me, but I don't want to face it. I turn around slowly and there he is: Magnus.

He must've come down to check on his father. I don't hear any incoherent mumbling coming from upstairs in this now quiet house, so I assume Annie's asleep. And now Magnus and I are alone, standing in front of his father's carcass. Why couldn't he just stay upstairs?

I look into the pair of innocent sea-green eyes standing before me. They seem to ask, why did you kill my daddy? And I have no answers. So, I sigh and whip around to grab another towel to clean my machete. I look up at the ceiling as I clean the weapon and pour my thoughts onto the boy.

"It was not my intention to do this in front of you. And for that I'm sorry. But you can take my word for it: Your father had it coming."

I put the machete back on its hook on my belt and throw the towel back on the counter. Slowly, I turn back to the boy and look down upon his face. Though he doesn't seem fazed at all, I can tell he heeded my words. Now, I'll deliver unto him a final message, squinting at him.

"When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, I'll be waiting."

With that, I turn and exit. He doesn't even move as my feet crunch over the pills scattered over the tiled floor.

As I walk through his living room, out his front door, across his sandy lawn and out into his street, I don't think of him. I only think of the words that Haymitch gave me before I departed for the Quell. I've never spoken of them once:

"When you're out in that arena, you can't be your normal sweet self. Suppress that baker's warmth and use that fire that I know you have. Kill whoever tries to kill you or Katniss, even if it be someone who you thought was an ally. More importantly, stay alive."

Those last two words are what I think of when I hop into my hovercraft and finally decide to look back at Finnick's home sitting perfectly on the dune. I pull out my death list and cross his name off. Two down, three to go. I turn the craft on and hover down the road to my next destination.


End file.
